


The Divine and the Profane

by Madstuart



Series: Aziraphale/Crowley Femslash [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Femslash, in a church, like you do, no plot just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15630678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madstuart/pseuds/Madstuart





	The Divine and the Profane

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/55888738@N06/43233242014/in/dateposted-public/)

Crowley watched from the back of the church as evening mass ended, stepping in to the last pew as the congregation began filtering out. At the front of the church, she saw a familiar plump figure with a wild mass of pale gold curls—curls currently half-hidden under a truly enormous white hat—stand up from one of the pews at the front of the church. But instead of heading towards the back, the woman had a few brief words with the priest.

After a moment or two the priest disappeared into the vestry, and Crowley’s dear enemy knelt in front of the altar, albeit with some difficulty given the narrow skirt of her dress. She crossed herself, and then clasped her hands in prayer.

Crowley felt a sneer twist her face. So this was the business that Aziraphale had deemed more important than their monthly meeting? A Catholic mass and solitary prayer? 

Before she was quite aware of what she was doing, Crowley was halfway up the aisle, stalking in Aziraphale’s direction. If Aziraphale thought she could ignore Crowley, could leave Crowley waiting, alone, in one of the best and most expensive* restaurants currently in the city of London, for hours, and not face any consequences, she had another thing coming. This time she would finally do it, Crowley decided. She would find a way to tempt Aziraphale into falling. Perhaps only a little, but, well, a little at a time was all it took.

Crowley reached the front of the church and took a deep breath, calming herself, then knelt at Aziraphale’s side, making a gesture that might have looked like an abortive, lazy cross to the casual observer, but which somehow left a momentary glowing outline and a slight smell of singed hair in its wake. 

To Aziraphale’s credit, she did not look up from her clasped hands, but after a moment she said, in a low, quiet voice, “What, isn't the rest of you going to burst into flames as well?”

The sneer made its way back to Crowley’s face at that. “Being fallen doesn't make me any less of an angel than you, Aziraphale. I've as much right as you have to be here.”

“Hm,” came Aziraphale’s noncommittal answer, and then her lips went back to moving in silent prayer. 

“What the hell are you doing in a Catholic Church?” asked Crowley, her tone irate. “In the mood for a healthy dose of guilt with your religion?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, finally lifting her gaze from her folded hands and looking directly at Crowley. “I haven't been a very good angel lately, and I needed a reminder to feel guilty about it.”

Crowley scoffed. “All you ever do is feel guilty. You never stop. It must be one of the malfunctions of the angelic mindset, I suspect.”

“Hm,” was all Aziraphale said, before lowering her gaze back to her clasped hands and resuming her silent prayer. 

“And of course, you forgot our meeting,” continued Crowley irritably. “Thus, the hiding in a church, I assume?”

“I rather hoped this would be the last one you’d check,” said Aziraphale with a sigh. “What with this being England. No one is too keen on the Catholics here, for the most part. I think people here consider them to be your lot.”

Crowley didn't answer. This particular church had, in fact, been the last one she'd checked. But Crowley’s silence seemed to be answer enough for Aziraphale, because she saw the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth twitch into a small smile.

Time to do something about that angelic smugness, thought Crowley. She reached over and knocked Aziraphale’s hat off her head. Or rather, she tried; instead, it turned out the hat was pinned to Aziraphale’s mass of curls, and the angel let out a pained yelp. 

“Sorry!” Crowley looked at the hat, found the hat pins holding it in place and removed them before lifting the hat carefully off Aziraphale’s head and setting it on the ground in front of them. Then Crowley carefully swept Aziraphale’s curls to one side, searching for the clasp on her necklace, noticing with a little confusion that Aziraphale had tilted her head to one side to allow Crowley better access. 

“What are you doing?” asked Aziraphale in a bemused tone. 

“Just a moment… ah.” Crowley found the clasp and undid it, letting it and the cross it had held fall to the ground. “Much better.”

“And why, exactly, did you want to get rid of my necklace?” 

By way of an answer, Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, then bit down. Hard. The angel let out a little startled gasp, but she didn't protest; instead she seemed to melt towards Crowley, her kneeling form gaining a decided slump. 

“I see,” said Aziraphale, her tone a little shocked. “In a church, Crowley?”

“If this is where you're going to try and hide from me, then yes, in a church, angel,” hissed Crowley, giving up on figuring out which of the small seams on Aziraphale’s dress hid the zipper and just fondling one of the angel’s breasts through the layers of her clothing. 

Aziraphale made a little needy noise and turned her face towards Crowley, ad Crowley took the invitation, pressing her mouth to Aziraphale’s, teasing the angel’s lips apart with her tongue. Aziraphale let out another needy little moan, and Crowley took the kiss deeper, giving Aziraphale a taste of just what Crowley’s tongue was capable of. And then, it was a thing of lips and tongues and teeth, of frantic hands grasping and groping, of two bodies trying to merge into one, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Crowley found herself thinking that perhaps she wasn't the one doing the tempting here, and that perhaps she would have tried something like this much, much sooner, if she’d known that was going to be Aziraphale’s response to it. But she set both of those thoughts aside for now and simply concentrated on this moment, on the feeling of Aziraphale’s curves against her body, the feeling of her curls tangled in Crowley’s fingers as Crowley cupped the back of her head. 

Aziraphale broke away first, breathing hard, her face glowing up at Crowley’s with a light that was almost holy. “Well, my dear? Is that all the temptation you have for me today?” Aziraphale asked, her voice breathy. 

Yes, said Crowley’s common sense, because this had not at all gone how she'd anticipated, because Aziraphale should not be so willing, should not be looking up at Crowley with that light in her eyes. There was something unanticipated here, and Crowley thought she probably ought to make her escape from the situation while escape was still possible. 

“No,” said Crowley’s voice, along with every other part of her. 

“Well, then. Get on with it,” Aziraphale said, a challenge in her voice. 

Crowley cast about frantically for a moment, then her eyes lit on the altar in front of them. Surely Aziraphale would consider that a bridge too far. Surely the angel would call this madness to a halt before it went too far.

Crowley stood and pulled Aziraphale to her feet, and then bent to kiss her again, slowly backing her up against the altar, a simple affair of stone, covered in a plain white altar cloth and with a few candles in plain pewter candleholders, extinguished at the end of mass, ornamenting the sides. And then, once Aziraphale was backed against it, Crowley hitched the tight skirt of the angel’s dress up around her hips and slid her hand between Aziraphale’s legs. 

Aziraphale arched backwards against the altar as Crowley worked her hand under Aziraphale’s underpants, the angel letting out a low moan as Crowley’s fingers started to explore. Crowley found she'd let out a low hiss of breath herself; Aziraphale was wet and slick beneath her fingers. 

“More,” came Aziraphale’s voice, thick with desire. “If you're going to tempt me, do it properly, Crowley. Show me what that tongue of yours can do.”

Crowley was definitely in over her head, but she was just a little bit too proud to back out now. So instead, she withdrew her hand from between Aziraphale’s legs, set her hands to Aziraphale’s hips, and helped the angel hop up on the stone altar. 

Aziraphale’s underpants disappeared with a little pop, and she spread her legs for Crowley. Crowley’s breath left her in a rush. 

“Beautiful,” Crowley said, sliding her hands up Aziraphale’s legs, using them to part the lips of Aziraphale’s cunt even further. “You are so damned beautiful.”

Aziraphale let out a breathy little laugh, reaching up to stroke a hand through Crowley’s hair before plucking the sunglasses off her face and setting them aside. “So are you,” the angel said softly. “So tempt me. The way only you can.”

Crowley did not need to be asked again. Instead, she knelt in front of the altar and lowered her head between Aziraphale’s thighs and let her tongue flick out against the angel’s clit. Aziraphale let out a quiet moan and collapsed backwards, just barely catching herself on her hands. And then the angel’s legs were wrapped tight around Crowley’s shoulders, pulling the demon close as her tongue went to work on Aziraphale’s cunt. 

It should have been a desecration. 

It tasted like a sacrament. 

Aziraphale liked to go on about the ineffable, and for the first time in their millennia of acquaintance, Crowley thought she understood what it meant. It was here, in this action, in Aziraphale’s strangled cry as Crowley brought her to completion. It was here, in this moment shared between two people, one bringing the other the closest thing to divine ecstasy that one mortal could bestow upon another. And it was here, in this urge, this calling, to be the person who could deserve the utter surrender, the utter trust that Aziraphale had placed in her, when Aziraphale entrusted the pleasure and the sanctity of her body to Crowley’s hands. 

Well, Crowley’s tongue, really, but it was all the same in the end. 

There was a noise from the vestry, and the voice of the priest calling out, asking if everything was all right. Aziraphale sat up suddenly, her eyes going wide. There were little puffs of air as the discarded hat, necklace, and glasses disappeared, and the Aziraphale pushed Crowley back, slid off the altar, grabbed Crowley by the hand, and made a frantic dash not, as Crowley had expected, towards the back of the church, but instead to the booth of the confessional. 

“What…?” Crowley tried to ask as Aziraphale pulled her into the tiny booth and closed the door behind them carefully, but before she could get any more than the first word out, Aziraphale was pulling Crowley down into a kiss that shut her up entirely. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was half-listening as the priest called out again and did a quick walk through of the church, but every other part of her was distracted by Aziraphale’s mouth on her own, on the crowded proximity the small size of the confessional booth necessitated. After a few long, frantic minutes, the priest’s footsteps returned to the vestry, and Aziraphale broke the kiss. 

“What are we doing in here?” asked Crowley, looking down at Aziraphale with confusion.

A little frown formed between Aziraphale’s eyebrows, and she reached up to cup Crowley’s face in one hand, to stroke a thumb across her cheekbone. “It's a confessional, isn't it? Maybe I feel the need to make a confession.”

Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes, frowning herself. “I'm not sure I'm ready for that,” she heard herself saying, all the while denying the fact that she knew what Aziraphale must mean by confession. 

“If not by word, then at least by body,” breathed Aziraphale, and then the angel was pressing her lips to Crowley’s collarbone, to the little divot of her breastbone that showed above the neckline of her shirt, to one of her nipples through the thin material of her shirt. Aziraphale’s hands were just as busy as her mouth, unbuckling Crowley’s belt, unbuttoning her jeans, unzipping, fingers finding their way down between Crowley’s thighs. The rest of Aziraphale’s body was all curves and pleasant plumpness, but her fingers and hands were dainty and delicate and very, very good at what she was doing right now. 

Crowley slumped against the wall of the confessional, only remaining upright because the booth wasn't large enough to let her melt to the floor. Aziraphale wrapped her free arm around Crowley, supporting her, holding her, as her mouth and tongue teased Crowley’s nipple through her shirt, as her fingers worked between Crowley’s thighs. 

Crowley had no doubt that Aziraphale was finding Crowley just as wet and slick as Aziraphale herself had been, not so long ago. As if in response to this thought, the angel withdrew her fingers from Crowley’s cunt and lifted them to her mouth, tasting them and making a guttural little sound of pleasure as she did. 

Crowley went limp and boneless at the sound and collapsed further against the wall, her knees giving out entirely. 

“Come on, darling, stay with me,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s ear as the angel worked her fingers back into Crowley’s pants and found her clit, started teasing it. “Just a little more,” she said, finding a quick and earnest rhythm with her fingers, and Crowley’s entire body suddenly stiffened, her back arching, the entire length of her body pressing against Aziraphale’s own. Crowley let out a deep, sobbing moan as she orgasmed, and Aziraphale’s mouth was on hers once more, muffling the sound of Crowley’s climax with a gentle, sweet kiss. 

And then Aziraphale broke the kiss and Crowley stared down at her, wild-eyed, breathing hard, completely unsure of what had just happened while being entirely certain that she was not the one who had done the tempting here.

Once again, it seemed that Aziraphale had heard the words Crowley had not said. “If you can try to tempt me into falling, surely it's only fair play that I get to try to tempt you into rising above what you are, my dear,” she said with a sweet little smile. With a puff of air, Crowley’s glasses appeared in Aziraphale’s hand, and she settled them carefully back on Crowley’s face. 

And then she opened the door of the confessional and left, whistling a jaunty tune as she went. 

Crowley stared after her, entirely discombobulated. “It's not as easy to saunter vaguely upwards,” she said to the empty space that Aziraphale had left behind. 

_But… perhaps it would be worth trying, if that was what was waiting at the end_ , came a thought, unbidden.

*Not that Crowley ever paid for the meals she ate in restaurants, but it was the principle of the thing, and it was always amusing to see Aziraphale’s face when the bill came and she was faced with abandoning her scruples or paying what were, sometimes, truly outstanding charges for the amount and quality of food they'd received. [return to text]


End file.
